


Divergent

by Maiden_Fair



Series: End Point [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_Fair/pseuds/Maiden_Fair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Arryn's death brings more than King Robert Baratheon to Winterfell. It brings Jaime Lannister too. Lord Jaime Lannister of Tarth and his family. What will the canon hit or where, when its course has changed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother and Son

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon rewritten. It will follow the show's timeline, but I have included text and dialogue from both the show and the books. I've also changed things a bit to suit the plot.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings, nor do I gain any profit from this story. All characters and settings are property of G.R.R.M and D & D.

 

 

**Catelyn**

 

 

Catelyn walked across the courtyard towards the grove where she knew her husband would be. She looked down at the scroll that was no larger than the palm of her hand, but it weighed her down like an anvil sinking into the bed of the great rivers of Riverrun. The death of the direwolf bitch, killed by a stag, her five pups left to fend for themselves before they were found. Signs aplenty and heavily dark.

“All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here,” she admitted once she stood before her husband and the weirwood. No greetings needed, for both knew who it was that spoke. She looked upon the face carved upon the bark of the weirwood. Its eyes followed her, she knew.

“You have five Northern children,” her husband Ned appeased. His greatsword Ice sat across his lap. He continued to clean it as he spoke to her. “You’re not an outsider.”

“I wonder if the old gods agree,” she said.

“It’s your gods with all the rules,” he replied. He looked up to her, his smile disappearing as his eyes scan about her body.

“I am so sorry, my love,” she said, clutching the scroll in her hand.

“Tell me.”

“There was a raven from King’s Landing,” there was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. “Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him. I know he was like a father to you.”

  She could see grief on his face, but even then he thought first of her. “Your sister,” he said. “The boy.”

“They both have their health,” she replied quickly. “The gods be good.” She sat upon a smaller stone to that of her husband’s, her back to the weirwood. She looked at her hazy reflection on the dark pool and allowed a moment for the news to sink in. “The raven brought more news,” her husband looked up from his contemplation. “The king rides for Winterfell. With the Queen and _all_ the rest of them.” He grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen’s family, Catelyn knew. The younger brother rose a little in Ned’s esteem and that was only due to _his_ wife and the vow they took in rescuing her darling eldest. But for the rest, well she hoped Ned will keep a civil tongue on him.

“He’s coming this far north, there is only one thing he is after,” he said grimly.

“You can always say no Ned,” she said. A chill ran up her spine, a sense of foreboding near-swallowing her whole. She knew her husband well, and his honour. He kept his silence.

 

 

0=[===========>

 

 

The next few days were chaotic. The entirety of Winterfell was swept clean, from top to bottom. More game were hunted, twice that was normal and more that could be spared. The best sheets were brought out of their cupboards, dusted and aired out. Catelyn watched as the servants busily did their service and paid their dues, like bumblebees within their hives. All in the service of a king that might take her husband away. Catelyn tried to keep these grim thoughts away, so she thought of the brighter aspect of this visit. Another raven brought news which gave Catelyn a reason to smile about. The Lord and Lady of Tarth and their children would also be coming, probably in the same time as the king.

Catelyn cannot wait to see them, particularly the Lady. Correspondence between their Houses were as frequent as they could. Catelyn often thought of her as another daughter even though she was much older than her firstborn. Robb was particularly excited with this bit of news and she often found him in the practice yards. Sword in hand, he practiced his poses and his swing, lessons long-remembered mumbled under his breath. Her other children were excited as well, more so of Arya and Bran for they were interested with the stories about the Lord and Lady. Arya would watch her brother and learn the lessons he learned from the Lady, a real Lady Knight! The gods give her patience for her youngest daughter.

“We need plenty of candles, particularly in Lord Tyrion’s chambers,” she ordered, as she walked around the tables, the servants busily setting garlands of Winterfell’s finest shrubs and flowers. She woke early this morning, her husband still asleep beside her. Lists upon lists of what needed to be done went through her mind like a continuous loop. She could not go back to sleep, so she risen from her bed and began the preparations. “I’m told he reads all night.”

“I’m told he drinks all night,” answered Maester Luwin who followed her in a speed other men his own age would have difficulty with.

“How much can he possible drink…of a man of his _stature_?”

“We brought up the best ale from the cellar, so we will find out,” he replied wryly.

“In any case, candles.”

 

 0=[===========>

 

 

**Bran**

 

 

Bran Stark tried to stand still as he stood beside his sister. But his limbs twitched in excitement as he watched the visitors come into the keep like a river of gold and silver and fiery red. He gives thanks that the heavy cloak he wore hid his twitching arms. He looked up as knights with shining armour held atop on great steeds positioned themselves on the outer part of the courtyard surrounding them. Each held over their heads golden banners emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

Bran recognised some of the riders, more from Robb’s stories than anything else. There was Sandor Clegane, or aptly called ‘The Hound” and not because of his black helm. There riding next to him is a tall boy around Sansa’ age, if a little older. He had gold hair and a smug smile that he sometimes found on Theon’s face when talking to Jon and could only think that this was the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. “A royal prick” Robb had described him. He was disappointed that he couldn’t find the queen’s brothers, for Robb had great stories about the older one, but he didn’t worry. His mother said that they will come and she had never been wrong before.

A giant wheelhouse of red and gold and metal pulled by several horses came into the courtyard, so big that the carriage almost touched the sides of the castle gate. He believed this must be where the rest of the royal family are housed.

Then a huge man came into view, flanked by two knights that must be of the Kingsguard judging by the white cloaks on their shoulders. His father kneeled down close to the ground and automatically Bran and the rest of them followed. He waited until a signal by his father to stand up and found the huge man with a huge gut standing in front of his father. To Bran’s rising disappointment, if they are the Kingsguard and his father and all of them are kneeling for him, than that huge man must be…

 “Your Grace,” his father greeted.

… the king.

He watched as the king was silent, gazing and observing his father like those painters that looked at their pictures trying to find any flaws.

“You got fat,” the king growled. _He is one to talk_ he thought, looking at his fat stomach. Suddenly the king boomed out a laugh before giving his father a hug that looked to crush bone and then gave his mother a hug like she was a long-lost sister.

Bran watched as a lady with golden hair and wearing a golden cloak stepped out of the carriage - Cersei Lannister if he remembered his lessons correctly- and a girl and a boy which would be her two younger children. The queen looked around the castle with the same look when Sansa bit into a particularly sour part of her favoured lemoncake.

It is the same look she is giving Arya now when she asked where The Imp was. Bran watched as the king greeted each of his siblings in turn and had to smile as the king happily told him that he would be a soldier. Then the queen stepped forward. There was no smile on her face, she looked like she did not even want to be here. Her green eyes were hard when she looked upon his family, as though they were lower than the humus that covered the grounds in the godswood.

Before anything could be said and done, Bran could hear the sound of galloping horses coming closer. They all watched as another set of riders came into the courtyard, this time wearing armour of blue and silver and holding banners of rose and azure and the suns and crescent moons and the golden lion of the Houses Lannister and Tarth. He watched excitedly as the man at the head of the column came to a stop in front of them. He peered down at them with a small smile before giving them all a nod, his golden hair atop his head.

“That is Jaime Lannister, the queen’s twin brother,” Arya whispered before being told to shut up by Sansa.

“Well,” the king growled impatiently. “Are you going to get off your high horse and greet our hosts or what?!” Then the most unexpected happened. Lord Jaime held out a hand and out appeared another in answer before a smaller person vaulted off the warhorse. Bran would have thought it was a boy, as the head was covered by a helmet, if he didn’t see the blue dress…then the girl face that appeared when the helmet was removed. She had hair that was almost the colour of white snow that was pulled back tight from her face and green eyes. He could hear Arya muttering about how the girl got to wear a helmet and why did she get to have a sword? Bran saw that the girl did have a small sword in its scabbard, wrapped around her waist and just peeking out from underneath her cloak. 

Ser Jaime just stepped off from the back of his horse as four other people came forward to stand beside the girl. There stood the elder twin sons Galladon and Tyson Lannister.  Identical but the colour of their eyes, the lightness of their hair and where Galladon was built like Robb, Tyson looked to have bulkier arms and shoulders. They looked to be the same height as their father only Bran knew they were younger than Prince Joffrey. The smallest of the lot was the youngest boy who ran up to stand next to Galladon and stood the height just above his brother’s waist, Korvin Lannister.  Then the girl must be Josephine Lannister who is Arya’s age and came up to her brother’s chest, but it was the last person that held most of Bran’s attention. The tallest of all of them came to stand next to Ser Jaime, who looked at her like father would look at mother many a times and held her hand like his parents as well.

This must be the most spoken about Lady Brienne Lannister of Evanfall Hall. She didn’t look like any lady Bran has ever seen, not like his mother or the queen, nor like his sister Sansa who always called herself a lady. No Lady would wear what men wore, even if they do look new and the leather polished. She had light freckles that covered her face, big lips and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once and was not put back properly. Her hair – the same colour as Tyson and Josephine – was cut so short he could see her neck which was surprisingly delicate. She could be someone that could be called ugly. But out of everything about her he could say he liked was her eyes. They were the same colour as the sky on a nice day and just as soft like the warm breeze that blew in his face when he laid down to rest under the weirwood before it turned cold. The Maiden’s Tears was a particularly favoured if sad story in the Stark Household, Bran was happy to see the descriptions of her eyes were real.

As one they bowed and curtsied, and unison they stood up, but the way they did it Bran couldn’t tell if it was for the king, or for his father or for both or for neither.

Ser Jaime stepped forward into the last corner of the triangle of the Lords of their House. “Apologies for the late arrival your grace, my Lord Stark,” he said nodding to each of them. “My children have not been outside of Tarth for many years, they tend to lose concentration when the surroundings are exciting and explorable.” They turned around to watch as Korvin Lannister whispered quietly to his sister, pointing to various parts of the castle.

“Lord Jaime,” father greeted, not as with great affection as with the king but amiable just the same. “Winterfell cannot be comparable to Evenfall Hall I’m sure.”

“Well Winterfell has its own quirks and holds many memories still, staring at the same stones day by day can grow quite dull. Why do you think Brienne and I bring out the children to make camp in the surrounding forests as many times as we can?”

 As though being summoned, the Lady Brienne stepped up beside her husband. Closer up, her eyes looked like the blue stones he had seen some Ladies wear. She greeted the king before turning to his father. “Lord Stark.”

Unlike with the queen, his father’s greeting to the Lady was infused with so much warmth his father not only kissed her hand but gave her a great hug, something she was not expecting judging by the expression on her face. His mother’s greeting was no less warm and she hugged her like a mother would give to a child who had flown the nest.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, I would like to pay my respects.”

The queen began to protest that they have been riding for a month, surely the dead can wait. Nothing else was said; the king turned without another look to his queen towards the family crypt with his father following, leaving the queen to stand alone.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asked almost desperately. The queen gave his sister an icy look before going to stand by her twin brother, who stood closely by his wife near their family.

“Where is our little brother?” she asked him quietly, never realising her voice could be clearly heard where Bran stood she continued to demand her brother. “Go and find the little beast.”

“Will he be in the house where ladies sing and dance?” Korvin piped up helpfully, looking up at the adults innocently. Every adult tried to hold in their laughter, save for the queen who didn’t find it at all amusing, as Lady Brienne asked her youngest where did he hear such things.

Korvin turned to his brothers. “Well Gal and Ty said -” the rest was smothered when Tyson pulled his brother to his body and covered his little brother’s mouth. At once the twin brothers smiled innocently to their mother who gave them a familiar look all mothers save for her troublesome children.


	2. Search and Find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer in Chapter 1  
> Unbetaed...sorry for any mistakes

 

**Jaime**

 

 

Jaime Lannister walked around Winterfell and recalled many places from memory, most of them if not all involving Brienne. It was a pleasant walk, a good way to cleanse himself of Cersei’s presence when she demanded that he searched for their wayward brother. All these years of separation and she can still have her demands from him met. All it took was the scent of his wife (her neck, one of his many favoured places) and her touch to calm him down. Thank the Seven for his youngest child’s timing, for he would have said something rather scathing.   

When they arrived, it wasn’t too hard to focus on his good-brother and the Lord of Winterfell. However the first chance he got, he took a moment to look at his twin sister. Dressed in opulence as always, she still appeared as beautiful as ever. The years it seemed didn’t age her, but what time couldn’t touch everything else did. He could tell she was tired, haggard even and not because of the month-long journey.

Throwing those thoughts out of his mind, his surroundings brought him back to more pleasant ruminations. There at the stables was where she kept him for the night when he drank too much ale (and the memorable morning where his wench came to soothe his hurts, thoroughly); there at the practice yards where they would spar (then dragged his wench to the guest house to use the rest of their energies) and there at the armoury where the twins were conceived (they believed, as it was the only time they were short of moon tea). Jaime smiled to himself at the thought of the Lord and Lady Stark’s face were they to know how many parts of their Winterfell he and Brienne fucked in. It sure would to be a great tale to tell during their welcoming feast.

The greatest memory however, he turned to look, was the godswood where they wed under the weirwood. It was a small affair, he recalled, and it made it the more perfect. Just the Lord and Lady Stark with young Robb and Jon, his father and brother and Lord Selwyn Tarth. Robert Baratheon also attended which was a surprise, but unsurprisingly he came for Ned, a celebration and the overflowing ale and whores. To his relief, for the gods were good, Cersei didn’t attended, claiming she could not go so far north with her child being too young. His father Tywin Lannister wanted it to be a grand affair. Greater than Cersei’s wedding to Robert Baratheon at least, and that was the most lavish and gaudiest event he had ever participated in. However Brienne was adamant for it to be small and private and whatever his wench wanted Jaime had followed. To be frank he didn’t give a damn about the preparations, so long as he and Brienne were husband and wife in the end.

His search ended when he found his brother’s horse and the music that is familiar with whorehouses.  Keeping in mind that Cersei’s patience with everything was rapidly diminishing, Jaime went in search of the person who managed the establishment and organised for a few more whores to be delivered to his brother’s room when called for.

He entered his brother’s rented rooms to find his little brother on the bed with a whore lying atop of him, typically naked.

“Don’t get up,” he told her, not really relishing the sight of his little brother’s cock. Ignoring her he looked to his brother to see that despite his dishevelled appearance, he looked well. It seemed being in King’s Landing didn’t diminish his brother’s health and appetite for wine and whores.

“Should I explain the meaning of a closed door in a whorehouse, brother?” was his brother’s greeting. Typical.

“You have much to teach me, no doubt,” he answered sarcastically, closing the door behind him and walked towards the table that held the wine, he continued.  “But our sister craves your attention.”

“She has our cravings, our sister.”

“A family trait,” he said looking down at the wine in his hand and gave thought of his wife, particularly naked. “The Starks are feasting us at sundown,” it was a general and genteel invitation for the royals, but the pleading look Lady Catelyn gave to the Lannisters gave way to her feelings. “Don’t leave us alone with these people,” he pleaded his brother, before giving himself a large serving of the red wine.

“Give my good-sister and the children my apologies,” Tyrion answered sincerely. “But I have begun the feast a bit early and this is the first of many courses.” It was all Jaime could do to not roll his eyes at the giggle the whore made.

“I thought you might say that, but since we are short in time,” he said before opening the door to let in the other whores he procured.  He herded them in towards his brother. Thinking of his wife and surely that she had already been guided to their rooms already, he gave his brother a quick farewell before leaving the house.

 

0=[===========>

 

Just as he suspected, he found his wife at the quarters they were to be housed in. What surprised and humoured him was the little Lady Stark following Brienne like a puppy yapping at her with a series of questions.

“She has been following mother ever since our entrance.” Jaime turned behind to find his daughter standing beside him as they watched the scene by the entrance to her parents’ guest quarters.  

“Jealous?”

“Hardly,” Fee answered drily, giving him a look. The similarities between his daughter and his sister were greater when she did that. He just thanked the Seven her hair and her nature were her mother’s, otherwise he believed the gods took particular joy in torturing him for the rest of his days. “Do we really have to attend the feast tonight?”

“It will be ill manners if we were to not attend,” he lectured her, trying to keep his true thoughts about attendance out of his voice. “The Starks are our gracious host, we must at least give our appearance on the first night.”

 “It’s not because of the Starks I don’t want to go to the feast,” she answered hotly. “It’s because I don’t want to go anywhere near the Baratheons and their spawn.”

“Josephine,” he reprimanded but it seemed to just spur her on.

“Myrcella and Tommen are nice enough I suppose,” she conceded. “But that Joffrey-” she gave a grimace.

“Has he done anything untoward?” Jaime didn’t know what he’ll do if the prince _did_ do anything against his children. He wasn’t his father and he was barely an uncle to the boy.

“To me? No, not even to Korvin. But be sure to thank the gods that your sons are taller than him, otherwise he’ll try to trample his pompous feet over them like he did with the Stark children.”

“Or get the Hound to do it when he’s too lazy to do it himself.” They both looked down to find the little Lady Stark standing before them. Jaime found himself with no words in regards to the little lady. He never had to censure his words with his wife and only to a certain degree with his daughter and sons, as typical with most fathers. He turned to his wife who stood but a few feet away. She looked too humoured to help him. Typical.

“Do you think he has the Hound to wipe his arse as well?” his daughter asked looking like the young girl she is, delighted at the prospect of an ally.

“Probably with silk sheets, too sensitive with anything else.” Both giggled at the thought.

“Alright that’s enough,” his wife finally spoke. “Josephine why don’t you go find your brothers, I believe they are at practice in the yards.” Both girls turned to exit, leaving behind the sound of gossiping maids and their giggles.

“At least somebody is enjoying themselves,” he murmured when both girls disappeared from view. He turned to find his wife undressing her riding clothes. He could feel his cock harden as more of her skin came into view. It took him several months within their betrothal and even their marriage for Brienne to shed her modesty in his presence.  He remembered the way her entire face became infused with a blush at the slightest hint of innuendo when he spoke to her. Even when he wasn’t doing it in purpose! His saucy wench.

“How is your brother?” Brienne asked, not realising the show she was giving to her husband. Her poor husband whose breaches were becoming unbearable. “Did you find him?”

He probably mumbled some confirmation, but he didn’t know as his whole focus lied on the long legs that were suddenly in his view. Those long legs that looked lithe and feminine, yet had the strength to crush any man’s head off. Those long legs that had the softest skin he had ever touched beneath his fingers and lips. Those long legs that would cross behind his back as he fucked her. Just thinking about it made him-

“Jaime are you alright?” He looked up to find his wife looking at him in concern. He would have answered had it not been for the light to cast inside through the window behind her that made him see what the thin shift tried to hide from him. Her breasts now larger (but still no larger than a handful) compared to when she was younger due to her pregnancies and nipples so pink and sensitive. Her childbearing hips that made holding her so much easier. “Jaime.”

“Do you tempt me wench?” he growled, slowly stalking towards his prey. His innocent prey who looked to him in innocent confusion.

“Tempt?”

“You stand there, near-naked, away from me and you don’t think yourself a temptation to your poor husband who is still in his entire garb.” He watched as a blush spread across her entire face and her eyes became darker as she saw the state of her husband. He prowled around her, making sure for his close proximity to her he didn’t actually touch. Not yet. Not yet until the woman learned her lesson to not provoke a lion. Even when his fingers trembled with the thought of touching her. For it has been over a month since he touched her intimately, as through their travels Korvin could not sleep by himself with the changing scenery. It was all he could do to hold himself back from pouncing on his wife and fucking her hard and fast. From behind, he took the time to observe her arse. Her firm, slightly plump arse that, without further word, he gave a slap to one of its cheeks.

“Gods, Jaime,” she moaned out loud, heating up the blood that was pumping hard in his veins.

He came to a stop in front of her. Her blush reached from head to neck to what lies beyond the neck of the shift. Her bright eyes black with barely a hint of her beautiful blue. Her bosom rising and falling with the speed of her breath. By the Gods! How could any man not want her in the state she was currently in? Her plump lips beckoned him like a siren and he heeded its call by kissing her, by tasting her. He fucked her with his tongue, giving her a hint to what his goal was and judging by the moan that escaped between our lips she understood. He couldn’t take it anymore! With gentle hands despite his urgency, he moved them towards the bed, taking care to get rid of her smallclothes along the way. Judging that they were close enough, without a word of warning, he upended her onto the large bed. His cock hardened further by the way she landed; the ends of her shift rode high above her waist and her legs sprawled giving him clear view of her exposure.

“Jaime.” Brienne rose up onto her elbows. “Jaime we-we must…the feast-” she tried to close her legs, but he would have none of that.

“Don’t move.” She froze by the guttural order.

He stood between her legs as he undressed and watched her lying there like a feast only he was invited to. It was the most amazing sight in existence. The sight of her in a state no other man has ever or will ever see. The sight of her watching him with eyes full of lust, love and reverence. No other. No other has ever looked at him like that.

“You cannot fathom how often I’ve imagined you lying like that in the past month in our travels.” He pulled off his boots and throwing them aside to parts unknown. “How many times I nearly dragged you within passing woods and fucked you against a tree. Gods be damned.”

  “Why didn’t you?” She tried for coy, but he could still see the disbelief in her eyes, as though even after all these years she is still surprised by his want of her. The innocent Maid of Tarth.

“Why didn’t you? You who has the strength to throw me bodily anywhere, unresistingly of course.” He crawled onto the bed, smoothing his hands along from calf to knee, opening her up further. “Seven! May I spend a few days with my head between your legs, if my Lady permits me?” Without warning he dragged his lips on her shivering inner thigh, his tongue lapping at each freckle along the way.

“Say it,” he said against the junction between her leg and her core. “Say it wife.”

“I love you,” she moaned.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Knowing her reaction, Jaime held down her hips as the first touch of his mouth nearly had him overturned. His tongue slid across the lips of her sex, tasting her, teasing her before delving within. Brienne assaulted his senses. The sounds that escaped between her lips were music to his ears. The taste of her moisture that was like fine wine on his tongue. The feel of her inner core tightening around his tongue and the feel of her fingers in his hair, gripping at the long, golden strands. Giving a single thought to the time constraints, Jaime attacked her. The tightening of her inner walls and change of tempo of her voice was the sign he was waiting for. He worked his mouth harder, harshly just the way she liked it. Just the way that would guarantee to push her over the edge. He suckled lightly on the sensitive and swollen bud that had her buckling wildly. Suddenly with a loud cry she came and came.

Jaime sat up and knelt between her legs. He waited until she opened her eyes before lifting her arse higher and guided his hard cock into her. She tightened her legs around his hips as began to thrust, slowly at first not particularly rushing. There was no need to rush. He was not going to rush this, even if that meant they were going to be late to the feast. They weren’t the guest of honour anyway. He would hang the feast if it meant he would give his wife a proper fuck, a proper reunion. But he knew Brienne wouldn’t want that, wouldn’t want to sully the honour bestowed upon them by the Starks.

Gods! The feel of her wet, warm cunt around his cock was sensational, almost driving him to spend before they really began. He tightened the grip on her hips hard as he moved faster and harder. He watched as her breasts jiggled underneath her shift with each thrust, perspiration making the view of her hard nipples much clearer. Her fingers clutched at the bedding, making a purchase that had her push back against him. He moaned out loud at the sight of her expression; wild, carefree and real as though she didn’t care what she looked like anymore. 

“I love you wife.”

“Husband,” she said like an entreaty. Her blue hooded eyes looked to him, begging him to continue or end this, he didn’t know.

“Come here.” He picked her up and with slight manoeuvring had her tight against him, her legs braced around his waist and her arms around his shoulders as he sat her on his cock. Their harsh breaths mingled with their swollen mouth close to each other, their foreheads touching each keeping their faces close. Sweat slicked both their skins, the fabric of her shift sticking to her frame. The heat gathered at the base of his spine, the sign of his impeding climax. He held on as long he could, but the position they were and the lust he held for his wife taking part of the day turned against him. His thrusts became harder and faster, his rhythm like pistons within her cunt that faltered when she shouted into her second climax, her cunt gripping him like a vice that sent him over the edge. The roar that erupted from his mouth was like a sign to all that dwelled around them that a Lannister was truly in their midst.

Eventually, once they both recovered enough of their senses, Jaime laid them both on the bed. Not willing to be parted from her so soon, he kept her within his arms as he pulled the covers over them. They lied there in silence, both too comfortable for unwanted speech.


	3. Crooked Stitches

 

**Josephine**

 

“Have your stitches ever been crooked?”

Fee blinked. Out of the many topics they discussed so far, this seemed to come out of nowhere. It was nice to be able to speak to another about a range of topics without censure and without having to arrange what to discuss for the other’s interest. Not to say she was without companions who were good in conversation in Tarth, she just never had all her interests reflected back by another. She turned to her new friend and found a frown on her face; dull resentment floating in her eyes and Fee took a more delicate approach to her answer.

“For a time,” she answered. “But I didn’t want to be a defeated by some thread, so I practiced until they were perfect. Not to say they were any more interesting.”

“I find it all so dull,” Arya proclaimed. “I’d rather be riding a horse or learn how to fight with a sword then learn how to sew or dance.”

Fee had to fight back a smile. It would not do for Arya to see and think that she was being mocked. She remembered all too clearly of her own earlier attempts at needlework. Her septa’s scolding, the resulting tears and her lady mother’s calloused hands running through her hair like a fine-toothed comb. When her brothers caught wind at her dismal hand at needlework, they japed and japed and teased. She then remembered when her brothers were forced to handle the needle instead of a sword, their lady mother standing over them, hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. Oh the look on her septa’s face! It was all worth it to see her brothers sharing her misery and their japes went no further (about her needlework that is).

She glanced at her new friend and decided to give her some advice that was given to her when she was younger.

“Have you tried practical stitching?”

“Practical stitching?”

“Stitches that have some practical use instead of looking pretty.” She could see that her friend had no clue what she was talking about. “If you were to have a tear in your leathers, or your tunic or your smallclothes, you would need to know how to repair them.”

“Would you not just give it to your servants to repair or replace?”

“What if they were your favourite or held sentimental value? What if you were far away from your home?” Arya gave a thoughtful frown and Fee let her be. They arrived at the practice yard at the sight of Arya’s older brother Robb Stark, so lightly padded it bordered on useless and her own brother Tyson equally padded. They circled around, never letting their gaze break as they hit each other with wooden swords. _Thack, thack, thack._ Their swords hit each other with equal force. A large crowd gathered around to watch. Many of the men and boys cheering them on. Some encouragements, while others were blunt japes. _Boys will be boys_ her lord father would say. She saw her eldest brother Galladon exchange words with a reedy boy with a contemptuous face, who could be no other than Theon Greyjoy judging by the golden kraken decorated on his doublet. Fee had no doubt bets were made and coins will be exchanged. Off to the side, away from the rambunctious crowd stood a solemn looking Jon Snow. The bastard child of Lord Eddard Stark.

Fee could see the stark (ha!) resemblance between Arya and her bastard brother. They took more towards the dark hair and grey eyes of the Starks, while the rest of their siblings were closer to the Tullys. Fee could not really say the same uneven distribution for herself and her brothers.

The features of their parents spread rather evenly between the siblings, with the exception of their youngest brother. Korvin was entirely made up of their lord father’s Lannister features. Golden head, green eyes, tanned skin and unassuming height (compared to his rather tall siblings). Her uncle Tyrion, in one of his infrequent visits to Tarth, would often remark how Korvin resembled their father when he was younger in every way. He would then remark how he didn’t know if it was a good thing or not, which resulted in a slew of words between the elder Lannister brothers and the Lady Lannister to send the children away from words so foul they were too young to hear. 

“-Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed and Fee realised with a start that a whole conversation passed between Arya and Jon Snow without her notice. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honour to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

“There’s nothing wrong with bring proud of one’s origins!” Fee said at the same time. Jon Snow seemed startled at her appearance, blinking at her several times before appearing to take a hold of himself, Fee however was not going to let him go on this argument.

“My father created his own sigil when he wedded my mother,” Fee explained before showing them the shield that was embroidered on her own coat. The golden lion of Lannister was central on the arms, but behind it the blazon is quartered with yellow suns on rose and white crescent moons on azure. “He said he could not in good conscience allow the Lannister Lion to dominate our family arms when we are Lannisters living on Tarth Land and Tarth blood runs through our veins.”

“I think he did that to keep in good standing with his wife and good-father,” Jon muttered. Arya looked at him in astonishment but Fee smiled at him in agreement. She would have done the same if you had a good-father like Lord Selwyn Tarth and you married his only daughter and heir.

They looked to see Robb Stark and Tyson shaking hands and exchanging pats on the back, both sweating and both grinning. It seemed they didn’t see who won, but judging by their grins neither cared. Fee saw in the corner of her eye Theon Greyjoy sourly give a smug Galladon a few silver stags, and a few exchanges of coin between the soldiers.

“How long had they been at it?” Arya asked when they watched the boys walk over to Ser Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell’s master-in-arms.

“Not for long,” he answered. “I dare say they were evenly matched.”

“I would object to such observation,” Fee scoffed at the idea.

“What makes you say that?” Snow asked, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “My brother Robb has been taught by the greatest master-of-arms in the North and I seem to recall that he had also been taught by your parents some years before.”

“Robb Stark might be a good fighter, I cannot give a complete assessment, but he is first son,” Snow gave her a confused expression. “He has to divide his lessons with both being an abled fighter and the heir to Winterfell, my brother not so. While Tyson too must take lessons as most noble children, as second son he is given a freedom to take in other pursuits and in this case, he has devoted in being the best knight and his older brother’s sworn sword and has been taught accordingly.” Fee gave him a smirk that she often was told was the “triumphant lion” smirk her father and Uncle Tyrion often sported. However Fee could not bask in her triumph as Jon no longer held any emotion. It’s as though all emotion bled out of him and what was left was a hollow statue. Fee recalled quickly what she said to earn such a reaction and realised her little feux pas. Jon Snow was the second son of Lord Eddard Stark and such would have been equal in standing with Tyson. However he was a bastard and such was ranked even lower than young Rickon Stark. His status would not have afforded him the same privileges as Tyson and his future prospects were very dim. Before Fee could open her mouth to say something (anything to break the awkward silence that had risen), a commotion on the practice grounds took their attention. 

 What she saw made Fee groan in embarrassment. Theon Greyjoy and Tyson were holding tight to an infuriated Robb Stark who, if released, would have beaten Joffrey to the ground. Joffrey and the men behind him all laughing uproariously at them. With one last disdainful look, Joffrey and his men walked off.

“At least our father personally taught his children how to use a blade,” Galladon called out loudly, a Lannister never letting anyone have the last say. “What has your father ever personally done for you?” If Joffrey wasn’t walking towards where she was standing, no one would have seen his reaction. As it was, Fee had the perfect view of the slight flinch Joffrey made in response and the residual resentment in his green eyes. Although cruel in words, Josephine just didn’t have it in her to pity the pathetic fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come up with rough ideas on whom the children will look like, particularly the boys. But I'm still stuck on Josephine. If anyone has any suggestions, please comment. Thanks.


	4. The Welcoming Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was pretty short, might as well add another.

 

**Brienne**

 

The moon had not risen to its highest peak, and already Brienne Lannister wanted to leave.

Not to say that the Starks were ungracious hosts. Lady Catelyn was as warm and kind and motherly as she was when Brienne first met her. The years have not changed her, if anything she had become wiser. Brienne knew she would not have turned out as good as a mother she hoped she was, if not for Lady Catelyn’s advice. Lord Stark was as kind and a fine gentleman as ever, and certainly Robb Stark grew up to be such a fine man. It was good to see him again, hearty and in such good spirits. The early years of his childhood were not good to him, especially their exile away from their homeland. However, it seemed his subsequent years since his reunion with his family had healed most of his wounds.

No, it was not the Starks that made her want to leave the North so quickly. Nor was it the uncomfortable seat she was sitting on, made worse because of previous rigorous activities. It was the other guests that gave her such unease, especially the guest that sat on the other side of Lady Catelyn.

Cersei Baratheon had never warmed up to her. If anything, since her marriage to Jaime, her good-sister generally acted more frostily to her than the cold winds of the North. The more years Brienne was a Lannister, the colder the queen became. At first she thought it was because Brienne was as far as a lady should be under the name of Lannister. Then after the second or third meeting with her, Brienne realised the hate stemmed from the fact that it was because of Brienne that Jaime was no longer part of the Kingsguard. It was a well-known fact that Tywin Lannister’s twin children had a close relationship. From their mother’s death to the time Tyrion could walk and talk for himself, Cersei and Jaime had only each other. Then came Brienne, whom in the eyes of the queen, stole her brother away from her.

It did not help that Tywin Lannister acted more affectionately, if he had ever been able to do so, with her than he had ever been with his own daughter. When she was pregnant with her twin boys Tywin would lavish her with so much attention, in a moment of panic she asked Jaime if his father was in love with her. After he had the gall to laugh out loud for so long, and gave Brienne her favourite dish and massaged her feet in order to appease his hormonally charged (and still-strong) wife, Jaime explained that Tywin is acting so because she is carrying the future of his line. Cersei’s children were all well and good, but they were Baratheon and what his father wanted most were Lannister children. It helped that Brienne had twins, it further secured the family line. It did not, however, endear her to her good-sister. If anything, the more children Brienne had, the more hate Cersei had for her. It helped, or hindered depending on how it was seen, that Jaime and his family lived far away in Tarth. Both Lannister women could live their lives in peace, or if anything a stalemate, away from each other.

That stalemate ended the moment Jon Arryn died.

News of his death reached Tarth before his body was even in the Sept of Baelor. Jaime surmised his father had known all the way in Casterly Rock before the body even cooled. Brienne wanted to send her condolences to Lady Arryn and her son, and Lord Stark immediately, saying that Jon Arryn was like a father to Lord Stark and King Robert. Jaime agreed, however he also told her that they would be travelling to Winterfell almost immediately.

“Why?” Brienne asked, confused as she watched her husband pace back and forth in their chambers. “There is no need for us to be there. Jon Arryn had no relations with us.”

“My father sent word,” Jaime said, a grimace always present when talking about his father. “The death of Jon Arryn will give Robert enough excuse to haul him and his entire family off to Winterfell. I agree with my father, the chance is high that Robert will appoint Lord Eddard Stark as the Hand of the King.”

“How does that then affect us?” Brienne was still confused.

 “I do not know and my father hasn’t deigned to tell me anything. Something is remiss Brienne,” he looked to her with rare worry. “I have the feeling there is more to Jon Arryn’s death than first seen. Somehow this will affect us all.”

And now here Brienne was, sitting here in the great hall amongst the crowd of wolves, lions and stags. She watched as her husband walked about the hall, flitting from one group to another, chatting and bantering. He would often walk to their children, talk to them for a few moments before setting himself to the next group of people. If he knew that she was staring, Jaime didn’t acknowledge it. If anything, watching Jaime kept her from staring at King Robert. She felt some awkwardness as she watched as King Robert kiss another woman, paying no mind that it was in front of his wife and family. Brienne just thanked the gods that she was not sitting next to Cersei as her husband made a spectacle of himself.

“Is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?” she heard Lady Catelyn make awkward talk to the queen.

“Yes, lovely country,” was Cersei’s distracted if indifferent answer.

“I’m sure it must be very grim, compared to King’s Landing,” Lady Catelyn continued. “I remembered how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time.” Brienne was sure Catelyn would have continued her narrative if Sansa Stark had not arrived. _The girl has perfect timing._

“Hello little dove,” Cersei greeted the lady. Brienne could not tell if it was meant to be an insult or not. In any case, it seemed Sansa liked the title, judging by her sweet smile. “But you are a beauty. How old are you?”

“Thirteen, Your Grace,” was Sansa’s sweet answer.

“You’re so tall, still growing?”

“I think so, Your Grace.”

“And have you bled yet?” Brienne could not help the stare she gave her good-sister for such a bold question. She could see Lady Catelyn’s astonishment and Sansa’s surprise as she looked to her mother for guidance before answering.

“No, Your Grace,” Sansa meekly answered.

“And your dress did you make it?” the queen continued her interrogation, Brienne suddenly realising Cersei’s motive. Sansa happily answered positively, if silently.

“Such a lovely talent, you must make something for me.” With one last happy curtsy, Sansa left to go back to her table. “I hear we might share a grandchild someday,” Cersei said to Catelyn as they watched Sansa walk off.

“I hear the same,” Brienne heard the break in Lady Catelyn’s voice when she answered.

“Your daughter will do well in the Capital. Such a beauty should not stay hidden up here.” Brienne could no longer listen to Cersei’s veiled insults anymore, even if they were aimed elsewhere. She tried to stand up without causing attention to fall upon her, but to no avail. She looked up to see cold green eyes upon her.

“Lady Brienne, I hope you are not leaving. I have cause to converse with you, we are after all family and we have not seen each other for a very long time.”  

“Pardon me, Your Grace, Lady Catelyn,” Brienne graciously answered, trying to ignore Lady Catelyn’s pleading eyes. “We have longed journeyed here, I think it is time for my children to go to bed.” They all turned in time to see her youngest son almost faceplant into his dinner. _Thank the gods for Korvin’s perfect timing._ They watched as Jaime lifted his sleepy son into his arms, made a face towards Brienne before walking out of the great hall towards their guest quarters. Brienne turned in time to see such profound sadness in Cersei’s eyes as she watched her brother walk away.

“Such a fine father he made,” Cersei said quietly. Words that weren’t meant for them to hear, Brienne was sure. The unusual show of vulnerability was there and gone the next the moment Cersei turned back to look at her. With nothing else that needed to be said, Brienne made one last awkward curtsy before taking her leave.


	5. The Broken Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting. First I got sick, then I had a serious case writer's block.  
> Thanks to those that have not given up on me. :)

**Jaime**

 

 

From his vantage point, Jaime watched as the sun broke through the grey clouds and illuminated Winterfell under its light. Jaime wasn’t the type of person to sprout poetic nonsense about his natural surroundings, but he could spend a moment in time to take into account how beautiful the view was. In particular how beautiful the heart tree was in this light. It was a shame it stood in contrast to its vast grim surroundings.

“Hello brother.”

Speaking of grim. Jaime turned to watch as his sister entered the dilapidated room. The hunt left at dawn. While normally he would have heartily joined them, hunting was a sport he most enjoyed with his boys, Jaime could not stand to be in Robert’s presence in any long periods of time. The fat king wanted boar for the feast that night. So with Joffrey and Lord Stark at his side, as well as men from both camps, the large group set off early into the forests of the North. Jaime allowed his sons to go with them, they have grown close to the Stark sons and Theon Greyjoy and it would do them good to make good standing with many noble houses. Not that Jaime had any interest in noble relationships whatsoever. He would rather have stayed secluded in his home in Tarth, with his warm hearth and surrounded in his wife’s mighty arms. But reality could not be ignored. The mystery of Jon Arryn’s death was something Jaime could not disregard. There was something about it that set off his instincts, and his instincts was something he never ignored.

“Hello sweet sister,” he replied, not moving from his perch as Cersei practically glided into the middle of the room. He received his sister’s summons the moment Brienne left to go horseback riding with Lady Catelyn, a coincidence he could not believe. While a summons would not have surprised him sixteen years previous (he would have been excited back then), he was surprised at the location she had summoned him to. The broken tower of the First Keep of Winterfell was hardly the appropriate location for this reunion.

“You look old. With a wife such as you have, it’s hardly surprising you’ve aged drastically.”

“And you look grim. With a face like that, it shouldn’t be surprising you chose a similar environment for this tit for tat,” he quickly answered. Typical. Cersei never did hold herself back on her views on his wife. His sister stared at him silently for a few moments, before a small smile appeared on her beautiful face.

“Oh how I’ve missed you Jaime.”

“Of course you did.” _Of course you did_ he thought. _Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen are excellent examples on how much you’ve missed me_. It was hypocritical of him to think such bitter thoughts. With how terribly their farewells went the last time they were in close, private quarters of each other, it would have surprised him if Cersei bared any thoughts about him during the years of their separation. Cersei just looked at him, her smile enigmatic as ever.

“Look I made a mistake,” she said, her hands up in entreaty. “All those years ago, I pushed you away.”

“I understood.” He really did, he just hid it deep inside.

“Did you?” she asked, her narrow eyes searching.

“Dead child.” She didn’t even flinch. “Grieving mother.”

“You helped with that grief.” He remembered how much help he gave. He couldn’t help remembering that night, the last night he spent time with her before he was thrust into the journey that led him to Brienne.

“You didn’t summon me here to take a gander into memory lane,” he said with a sigh, he was suddenly tired. “Why did you?” If she was surprised by the change of subject, it didn’t show on her face.

“Jon Arryn.”

“Didn’t know you were grieving.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what of it?” Maybe Cersei knew something.

“His death. Rather suspicious don’t you think?” He kept his face blank, but inwardly he was rather confused in this line of enquiry. She was throwing out breadcrumbs despite her outward disinterest. “Hale one day and dead the next.”

“I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there.”

“And whose fault was that?” she snapped back, her mask breaking a moment before she gathered all the pieces back. “Anyhow that is what you get for being curious.”

“Jon Arryn was curious about what?” Being Hand of the King, Jon Arryn should have been privy to many of Robert’s secrets, so there was no need for investigation in that angle, unless…  

 “Robert brought us here to name Eddard Stark Hand of the King,” she said ignoring his question entirely. “I do not like it.” Cersei stepped forward, something flashed in her eyes that Jaime could not read. “ _You_ should be the Hand.”

“Gods forbid,” he replied lazily, but inwardly he shuttered in disgust at the thought. “It’s not an honour I’d want. There’s far too much work involved.”

“Don’t you see the danger this puts us in?”

“No I do not,” he said hotly. “What danger could possibly be had for you from any questions Jon Arryn might have posed?” Suddenly he realised how far he stepped into the room when all it took for Cersei was one step to be right there in front of him, her bosom pressed lightly against his chest her hand on his forearm.

“Do not doubt me Jaime,” she whispered, her face inches away from his. He found himself frozen, unable to break himself away from her. Her presence, her fragrance. Her eyes that glittered like two emeralds as she caressed his cheek. “I did miss you.” In one moment to the next, he found her lips pressed against his. His breath stuttered, his heart beating out of his ribcage and he eyes close in remembrance. He remembered this feeling, all those years ago in their shared youth. A feeling suddenly made its presence in the pit of his stomach. All those times he yearned to be with her, all those times she allowed him in and the heat they generated with one look, one touch. He could feel her hand behind his head, guiding it to how she liked it and his hands he suddenly realised were on her soft forearms.

 

 

Wait 

 

 

That wasn’t right. Suddenly the feeling of wrongness slithered into his mind, breaking through the heated fog. Those arms should not be soft. Soft skin yes, but imbued with hard muscle. Strength. The muscles in his neck were uncomfortable, as though they were in an angle they were unfamiliar with in this sort of activity. The feeling in his stomach made its presence known, the unknown feeling turning into a feeling of disgust.

The disgust made himself pull back. He opened his eyes, expecting sapphire eyes. What he found made him push her back as though he were burnt. What he found were…

…green eyes.

Green eyes that stared at him in triumph, which were morphing into confusion the longer Jaime stayed away, the longer he stared at her in shock. _By the Gods what have I done?_

_Brienne!_

He must have said it out loud, for suddenly an ugly look appeared on his sister’s face.

“Do not bring her here Jaime,” she said in quiet hostility. “It is just us, as it should be.”

“Us?” he snapped. Her presumptuousness and his guilt creating a raging creature inside of him. “Us? There has not been an us for fifteen years. There will never be an us!”

“There will always be an us!” she quietly snapped back. Her words and movements suddenly turning sultry, a lioness on a prowl. “We are more than brother and sister, we shared the same womb. We came into this world together. We were meant to be together.” With one small tug, her gown fluttered down to the ground. He felt like the world stood still as she stood there bare before him, her skin pale before the Northern lights. Before he could do anything, something must have caught her attention for her eyes turned just away from him. She screamed.

As Cersei scrambled to cover herself, she screamed and pointed. Jaime turned around in time to see a small body fall just outside the window. He rushed towards the sill and looked out to see Bran Stark holding on for dear life, his small hands clutching the small stone ledge. Jaime reached down. “Take my hand, before you fall.”

“What are you doing?” his sister demanded. “He saw us!”

“He saw _you_ ,” he replied as he seized the boy’s hand, yanked him up to the window and held him there on the sill. Jaime took a close look at the boy and gave him an inspection for any injuries like he did for his own sons. “How old are you?” he asked, trying to distract the shaken boy.

“Ten,” the boy answered shakily. _Around the same age as my youngest._ Suddenly a slim arm went past him and clutched the boy in the chest. He looked across to see a vicious reflection of himself.

“The things I do for us,” she said with loathing.  Before he could do anything, she gave Bran a shove. Jaime froze there in shock. A numbness spread across his being at the enormity of his sister’s actions. He was numb to all. Numb to Bran Stark’s screams as he fell into the courtyard below. Numb to the wolf who was howling in the distance. Numb to the crows that circled the broken tower. Numb until he felt his sister’s nails gouging his arm as she yanked him away from the window.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“What needed to be done,” she said, bringing her clothing into order as though she did not shunt a child to his death. “He would have brought danger to my children.”

“He was just a boy!” he screamed. He walked over to the door. He needed to see if the boy could be saved. “What sort of danger could he have brought to you and Robert’s spawn?”

“They’re not Robert’s!” Her scream echoed in the suddenly silent room as they both froze in shock.

“Wha-.” He looked at her, speechless.

“They are not Robert’s,” she repeated, calm and deliberate. Cersei was throwing another breadcrumb, but Jaime’s thoughts were too muddled and chaotic to get a firm grasp of it. He was not obtuse on the hypocrisy of feeling betrayed by Cersei. He had children of his own with another woman, his wife after all. But he could not help it. It meant that outside of him and Robert, Cersei had another man between her legs. Another to seed her with children these past fifteen…

His thoughts came to a screeching halt. He looked up at her and for the first time in his life, he saw a stranger. A stranger who realised where his thoughts turned to when he saw triumph and pity in her eyes.

“Yes brother,” she said. “Joffrey is your-”

“Do not say it,” he interrupted darkly. “Do not-”

“-son,” she finished as though she didn’t hear him. Jaime stepped back as though he was given a vicious blow. _Joffrey,_ he thought _Joffrey is my…_ he could not even complete the thought. He could not bring himself to call the prince such a title. A title he had given to his own boys. _Galladon, my first born. A leader, a Lion, a trueborn heir to his House. Tyson, my warrior son, a great fighter like his mother, and Korvin, his son who loves to read and explore as much as his uncle._ He took a deep breath, looked up and faced his sister. The thought of his sons, his family were a balm to his fragmented mind.

“No.”

“He is your son,” she forced out.

“He is a squirt in your cunt,” he replied viciously. “Galladon, Tyson, Korvin, _they_ are my sons.”

“Joffrey is yours,” she cried out.

“Joffrey is yours and Robert’s abomination of a son in everything that counts and you will not persuade me otherwise.” He turned to leave her.

“Keep your tongue Jaime!” she yelled behind him. “Keep your tongue or lose your family.”

 


	6. The Lannisters of Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something I did. its not the best, but I really wanted to show some visuals.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bradley James  
> Dakota Fanning  
> Bear McClausland


	7. Valonqar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a b*^ch to write. Sorry, this particular POV was difficult. Hope its ok.

 

 

**Cersei**

 

 

_Valonqar, Valonqar, Valonqar…_

That word. That revolting word repeated continuously throughout her journey here to the North. The closer they came to Winterfell, the louder Maggy the Frog’s voice grew to the point she could even feel the spittle fly as Maggy said those words all those years ago.

_Valonqar, little brother, Valonqar, little brother, little brother…_

So close. So very close. She had her brother within her grasp and yet again he was taken from her. Whatever arguments Jaime may have had afterwards, she knew that he wanted her. At that moment when they were joined, it was the first time in years she felt…whole. Her twin. Her other half.

She could pinch herself if she could do it without her children looking at her strangely. Her secrets were kept buried these past years and it just took one moment of weakness, one moment of desperation when she thought Jaime was going to leave her to spit it out in the open.

In the end it did not matter. Telling Jaime he fathered her precious boy did nothing to bring her twin back. He did not even have the decency to soften at the thought they created a precious being together. All he dared to do was spit out the names of his monstrous children. Telling her Joffrey was no son of his, that Joffrey was Robert’s. _Fool._ Could he not see Joffrey was all Jaime? Could he not see how much time, love and effort she spent on honing the best of Jaime inside their son?  

The queen looked up from the pitiful meal that was served to break their fast and watched as Jaime’s eldest children walked into the morning room in the Guest House. Ruffians all of them, how they demean the great name of Lannister. Still at least they can thank the Gods that none of them bore great resemblance to Brienne the Beast.

The anger that stirred within her at the thought of that woman’s name was as strong today as it was back then. When she found out that Jaime had wed the beastly woman and she bore him twin bastards, her rage was so fierce even the adorable smiles of her dearest Joffrey could not quench the flames inside her.

“Your Grace,” they greeted, before they took their seats at the far end of the table. Twins, identical. Unlike her and Jaime, where their differences were only their sexes, these two had marks that distinguished them apart. Cersei could not decide which she favoured, or found useful. Tyson had the makings of a strong warrior; muscular and fighting fit. Whereas Galladon had the bearings of a lean and steadfast liege lord. Both bare great resemblance to their father. She would have to spend more time with them, than she had these past few days. Together or apart, she did not mind which.

“I see you’ve been rolling in the mud again,” Joffrey commented. The Hound was standing behind him against the wall, steadfast and large as he was.

“How observant of you,” Tyson muttered, stuffing a bread roll in his mouth.

“We train together most mornings,” Galladon continued, shooting his brother with a look. “Most of the other lads were there, except yourself.”

“I have better things to do with my time than poking each other with wooden swords.” Joffrey scoffed.

“Yes brother,” Tyson said sardonically. “He needs at least a good few hours to look presentable. His _beauty_ doesn’t just appear in an instant.” The twins snorted. Cersei scowled as she watched as Joffrey, blushed, humiliated by members of his own family. She watched as even Myrcella tried to keep from obviously laughing. Cersei wanted to defend her son, but she could not look weak by bringing herself into such childishness.

“Do you have _real_ swords cousin?” Tommen piped up, looking positively tiny next to his twin cousins.

“Yes,” answered Tyson, grinning down at the prince next to him. “The moment our master-in-arms deemed us responsible enough for steel swords, our parents fashioned us a pair on our last namesday.”

“Have you won battles with your swords?” Myrcella asked.

“No,” answered a smiling Galladon. “Most battles in Tarth are fought by our parents in skirmishes that mostly involve pirates. So our particular swords’ role is mostly ceremonial.” Galladon leaned in conspiratorially, his golden-sparkled blue eyes wide in his story telling. Cersei watched in surprise as Myrcella smiled and leaned in too, her face positively aglow in enthusiasm and awe. “Although we did pierce one or two pirates with hot pokers when, at one time, they trapped us in the smithy.” Imitating the event with a knife, Tommen and Myrcella smiling at the dramatization.

“Then it’s not a real sword if you only use it in paltry Tarth ceremonies,” Joffrey rebuffed.

“Nor is it real if it’s left in its scabbard at all times, all shiny and pointless,” Tyson retorted with a particularly pointed look that left Joffrey yet again with a blushing face.  Cersei could not take it anymore.

“Joffrey, we are to leave for King’s Landing in the morrow. Go find your uncle Tyrion, I have need of him.” With one last scowl, her son left the table. She watched as he marched right towards the door, with the Hound ever present behind him, passing Jaime without a word.

“Hello Lord Uncle!” was Tommen’s enthusiastic greeting, waving vigorously from his seat. Myrcella made the same, more sedate greeting.

“Hello Tommen, Myrcella,” Jaime greeted with a lazy wave, rubbing the twin’s golden heads before taking a seat. “Sister.”

“Brother,” she greeted back with gritted teeth. She tightened her hold on her shawl when she noticed her brother making no eye contact. Though he sat in front of her, it felt like there was a divide between them as large as the Red Fork.

“Have you offered your sympathies to Lord and Lady Stark?” Jaime asked his sons, pouring his drink. He listened as the boys answered positively, explaining how they called at dawn, knowing their hosts would be awake. She felt a heaviness emerge within her as she watched Jaime interact with his children. Something she had fantasized he would do if he had stayed at King’s Landing all those years ago. Something deep within her knew, if that was the case, she would have never allowed it out of fear. Besides Jaime was hers absolutely, same way her children were hers absolutely. They belonged to her, but never to each other.

“Josephine has decided to teach Arya the finer points on fighting,” Jaime told them. “Her first lesson: how to fall properly.”

“How to fall? Isn’t fighting about how _not_ to fall?” Myrcella asked shyly. Cersei gave her a daughter a narrowed look, one her daughter did not see. How could she know anything about fighting? She didn’t think Myrcella had any interest in the subject. _It must be the influence of Josephine and Arya, the little animals_ she thought. _Either that or it’s the Northern air. They do breed bitches by the dozens up here._

“Yes,” Jaime answered with a soft smile, a smile she had never seen on Joffrey. “But the moral of this lesson is: why do we fall?” Myrcella shrugged in confusion. “So that we can learn, to pick ourselves up.” A poignant, heavy silence emerged, until Jaime shook himself out and out came the charming boy she knew he always was. “A very good lesson learnt long ago, taught by a very stubborn wife you knocked about her equally stubborn husband until he learnt this lesson.” Something cracked within her when a sort of haze appeared in his eyes and small smile appeared on his lips. A very good memory it seemed.

“Where is mother?” Galladon asked breaking the tension.

“With Korvin, they are in the godswood,” Jaime answered as he spooned more food onto his plate. “They’re collecting ingredients for Lady Catelyn’s prayer wheel.”

“Why does Lady Brienne not make one herself?” Cersei asked. Couldn’t help herself really. “Seems her talents don’t extend that far.”

“Brienne’s talents stretch far beyond most noble ladies can comprehend,” Jaime answered quietly. “Besides, prayer wheels are made by the mothers of ailing children. Something most mothers should know about.” Cersei glared at her twin, who looked back with cool green eyes. _Where did my golden knight go?_ Before she could make a vicious retort, in came her other little brother.

_Valonqar, Valonqar, Valonqar…_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone spot the Batman reference?


	8. No brains, but far from stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long. Got sucked into another fandom. Any mistakes are my own.

**Tyson**

 

 

Out of all the Lannister children, Tyson was not known for his brains. He did not mind really. He had no head for politics such as his older twin, nor the patience for manipulations such as his sister (he thinks it is a skill most females have, look how his mother brings his father to heel with one look), nor the focus his youngest brother has in the absorptions of the written word. What he does have, with no short of pride, is the skill of the sword.

When he was younger, he looked through the histories of their family. Lannisters of before were known for many things, but not as a warrior. Sure his grandfather, Tywin Lannister, was known for his prowess on the battlefield. The _Reins of Castamere_ illustrated this, but Tyson always thought it was more to do with strategics and his grandfather’s ability to command than anything else. He was a good soldier, but not a great warrior.

When he told his grandfather this, the rare times they visited the Old Lion in Casterly Rock, Tyson thought he was going to get a good beating, judging by the stiff way his grandfather held himself and the way he stared at his then-youngest grandson. Tywin surprised everyone by not only agreeing in the assessment, but gave his grandson a rare show of affection by patting the child’s head.

“Then be the first,” Tywin advised. “Hone the body you inherited from Tarth, learn the valuable skills from the Evenstar and his daughter and make your stand as a great Lannister Warrior.” Tyson went to his parents and asked what it takes to be great warrior.

 His lord father had said that if he were to have grown another limb, no one would be surprised if it turned out to be a sword. His mother than said he was more Tarth than Lannister, a good breeding for being a warrior. His father then murmured something under his breath about breeding, before hauling his mother into their chambers and not be seen for the rest of the day, leaving their second son even more confused. 

Therefore, he may not have the brains, but he was far from stupid. When he and his brother entered the morning room to find not only their aunt, but her children as well, he knew the good mood he got from that early morning’s training would plummet to the ground like rain. He did not mind Cersei’s younger children, they were nice if a bit naïve, but he felt his patience thinning every time Joffrey opened his mouth. It was like the Seven has taken all the negative attributes a person could gain and rolled it all up into the person that would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms. _Gods Forbid!_ It did not take long in their month-long visit in Winterfell for the Lannister children to extrapolate the true character of the prince. Even Korvin noted how a ‘mean boy’ he was.

He thought the tight atmosphere would dissipate once Joffrey left and in came his father. He was wrong. He and Gal gave each other a look at the interactions between their father and the queen. There was something there, an underline of tension and knowledge that gave a heaviness to the older twins’ interactions. A push-and-pull, where it was clear that the queen was doing all the pulling and their father was doing all the pushing. What confounded Tyson were the reasons behind it. Surely siblings who have not seen each other for years would interact more amiably, he would if he and his siblings were to separate and then to reunite.

Apparently not.

His uncle’s appearance didn’t help the matter. If anything it made it worse, particularly when they spoke about Bran. At Uncle Tyrion’s entrance, a sort of faint disgust appeared on Cersei’s face. ‘ _Queen_ Cersei,’ his inner Gal admonished, which he mentally swatted away. He knew Tyrion was blamed by Tywin and Cersei for the death of Joanna Lannister. But his father would always tell them, ‘ _Tyrion should not have been blamed, he was just a baby after all.’_

When they began to speak about the recovery of the young Stark, a look passed between the older twins, one that lasted a second, but was enough to be caught by him. It was like the push-and-pull but wasn’t, instead it was the queen alone pulling a block of ice.

Tyson would have to speak to his brother about it. Galladon would know what it was and would explain it all to Tyson. Gal was good at that.

“The charms of the North seems entirely lost on you,” Uncle said as he filled his belly with food.

“But not on you it seems,” Tyson said with a smirk. “Voices hoarse, bowlegged gaits and coin-filled purses.”

“My sort of a party,” Tyrion answered with a smirk of his own.

“What is this I hear uncle,” Galladon said. “You riding up with Jon Snow to the Wall.”

“I still cannot believe you are going,” Cersei commented. “It’s ridiculous even for you.”

“Where is your sense of wonder?” Tyrion asked. “The greatest structure ever built. The intrepid men of the Night’s Watch. The wintery abode of the White Walkers.”

“Tell me you are not thinking of taking the Black?” father asked.

“And go celibate,” uncle Tyrion answered, looking as though the thought of it was ridiculous in itself. “The whores will go begging from dawn to Casterly Rock. No, I want to stand at the top of the Wall and piss off the edge of the world.”

Tyson didn’t know why said it, didn’t know why he asked. At a later date, if he would recall this day, he would think it was _not_ because of the descriptions his uncle made. Although wouldn’t that be a sight. The Wall, not his uncle’s cock.

“Father,” Tyson said. “Can I journey to the Wall with Uncle?” Everyone froze, even the queen when she was about to flounce out of the room in disgust. He could feel his brother besides him start in surprise.

“You want to go to the Wall?” asked father slowly, his gaze filled with wary surprise.

“Not to take the Black,” he explained quickly. “Without me Galladon wouldn’t know how to speak to a woman, let alone court one,” he ignored the hard punch to his shoulder. “Just to view the Wall. Like uncle said, it’s the greatest structure ever built. When will I ever see it, if I don’t take the opportunity now?” He could see his father slowly warming up to the idea and Uncle Tyrion giving a smile of approval. “Besides Uncle would probably fall off the Wall with just a small gust of wind and he would not be able to fulfil his dream of pissing off the edge of the world.” He got a small bread roll in the face for that comment.

“Alright you may go with your Uncle. But only if you can get your mother’s approval.” Only his father could bring him to such joys only to crush it immediately afterwards. _Mother._

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you mad?!”

Were the first words his brother spoke in the several minutes since they left the morning room to find their mother. Of course it was an admonishment. Typical.

“Mad. Look at this smile. Do I look mad?” Tyson answered with a point towards his smiling mouth. Galladon gave him an unamused look.

“You know what I mean. The Wall?! When have you ever been interested in going to the Wall?”

“Since now,” he answered patiently. He stopped and faced his brother. “Look, I want to go and explore a bit. Have my own excursion,” his brother remained sceptical. “Mother was my age when she had her journey.”

“ _That_ is the play you are using?” Gal scoffed. “Mother was _taken_ when she was our age. Good thing you didn’t use that tactic with father.” Tyson winced. Yes, that would not have been a good idea. Though the story was told to them in a fashion for young impressionable children who loved adventurous tales, they could tell it was a particularly traumatic experience for their mother. For _that_ to happen in her young age; Galladon and Tyson made sure not to ask for the tale too many times.

“Do I have your blessing?”

“Do you need my blessing?” Gal asked back after a moment’s deliberation.

“No. But it will be good to have it just the same.”

“The only thing I have against this idea is that we have never been apart before, not in this fashion,” Gal explained, his wide golden-blue eyes shining in the daylight. He always used this ploy and it always worked (well against him and father, for some reason it never worked with mother and Fee). Tyson smiled sadly and held his brother’s shoulder, shaking it a little.

“We will not be apart for too long. Besides you would not miss me too much. You would have King Robert to keep you company.” Gal grimaced. Throughout their stay here, it quickly became apparent that King Robert took a shine to Galladon. After the first hunt where Galladon took out a boar with an arrow in the eye (after a quick and quiet foot correction by Tyson), the king took every opportunity to spend time with the eldest Lannister. The king would speak out whatever he thought at the time and whatever Galladon replied, it always gained him an almost proud and approving smile from the king.

Tyson knew from the subtleties in his brother’s words that not everything his brother said rang entirely true. There was a method to his brother’s words that always stirred the person it was intended for into the direction Gal always wanted them to be. He never tried it with his family for ill intentions. But whatever he said, it seemed the king would happily go along with it.

However, not everybody was happy about it.

The queen of course didn’t like the amount of time the king and Galladon spent time with each other. She would look on with a narrow look and a subtle snarl on her lips that marred her beauty. It was, however, the prince’s reaction that was interesting.

Every time the king and Galladon would go off to one of their ‘bonding’ activities, Joffrey would look on with a particular look of anger, resentment and oddly enough hurt. He would often try to insinuate himself into their conversation or activity and every time Robert would often swat him away like he was an annoying fly. Joffrey would then gather his tattered dignity, send his brother a dark look, before flouncing off.

“Just, by the Seven, be careful would you,” Galladon gave his approval. “You’ll need all their blessings for your talk with mother.”

“Talk to me about what?”

They would deny it later that they screamed like a girl with the sudden appearance of their mother.

“Good luck,” Galladon murmured with a pat on the shoulder before, _the traitor_ , running away and leaving Tyson to face their mother who looked to her child with one lifted brow that never failed to scare those with Lannister blood into compliance (it worked, he saw it happen to Joffrey a few days ago).

“Mother,” Tyson greeted with a hard swallow and a grimace.

 

 

 


End file.
